7 Pay the Piper Read Online Free Page A

silver ashtray. “I wish I could think it was merely pessimism on the part of the prime minister, but I have to admit, Baxter, the rumors worry me.”
    Baxter’s face was grave as he looked down at her. “Might I suggest that you try to forget the problems of the world and concentrate on the immediate problem at hand?”
    She smiled up at him. “What would I do without you, Baxter? Of course you are right. The problems of the world I can do nothing about. I can only hope that this latest murder does not directly involve the hotel or any of its staff.”
    “And that,” Baxter said heavily, “is a trust with which I can heartily agree.”
    Shortly after her conversation with Baxter, Cecily was accosted in the hallway by Colonel Fortescue, who for once appeared to be quite sober—a state he no doubt would make haste to rectify before lunch was served in the dining room.
    “Ah, Mrs. Sinclair! Topping day, what? What?” The elderly gentleman twirled his luxuriant mustache with a flourish. “Can’t imagine why anyone would want to stay inside on a day like this.”
    “It’s a little too cold for most people,” Cecily pointed out, glancing hopefully toward the lobby for an avenue of escape.
    “Poppycock!” The colonel’s booming voice echoed down the passageway. “This bracing air is just what the doctor ordered. Give’s one a healthy appetite, by George. In myopinion, people tend to mollycoddle themselves nowadays. Going about all wrapped up in mufflers and those fur thingummies … one needs to get the air to one’s body. Good for the soul, you know.”
    Fortescue slapped his protruding belly with such gusto he coughed, gasping for breath.
    “I’m sure it is, Colonel,” Cecily murmured, doing her best to edge past him.
    “Mind you, I don’t approve of baring the skin altogether, of course,” the colonel said, recovering his breath. “Not like those damn natives in India. Why, I remember once—”
    “If you’ll excuse me, Colonel,” Cecily said desperately. “I really must be going.”
    Colonel Fortescue looked disappointed. “Oh, of course, old bean. Wouldn’t want to keep you. Must be busy with all these Scottish chappies running around. Now there’s a barbaric sight if ever I saw one.”
    The murder of Peter Stewart still on her mind, Cecily reacted without thinking. “I beg your pardon? What sight would that be, Colonel?”
    He tilted forward and dropped his voice to a loud whisper. “All those bare knees, madam. In front of women, mind you. Shocking, if you ask me. Wouldn’t be so bad if the men kept their dashed knees together when they sit down. Downright wicked, I call it. ’Pon my word, those hot-tempered heathens are worse than the natives.”
    “It is their uniform, Colonel. Scotsmen have been wearing the kilt for centuries.”
    “They can call it what they like, madam. But a skirt is a skirt. And a damn short one at that. They should be horsewhipped. Every last one of them. Not a gentleman among them.” Still muttering and grumbling, the colonel wandered off, his head moving from side to side like a tired walrus looking for something to eat.
    Cecily’s relief was short-lived, however, when Doris timidly approached her in the lobby. The skinny girl dropped an awkward curtsey, then said in her breathlessvoice, “Mr. Baxter says as how you wanted to speak with P.C. Northcott, mum.”
    Cecily gave the nervous girl a smile of encouragement. “Yes, I would like a word with the constable, Doris.” She peered closer. “It is Doris, isn’t it?”
    A glimpse of white teeth reassured her. “Yes, mum. It’s Daisy’s morning off.”
    Doris had seemed surprised that Cecily had recognized her right away, though in Cecily’s opinion, anyone who knew the girls would never confuse Daisy’s rebellious, belligerent attitude with her sister’s meek and mild manner.
    Studying the girl, Cecily noticed with concern her ashen cheeks. “Are you feeling all right, Doris? You look a little